


That's All (It's Enough)

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John confronting Sherlock, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, angsty fluff, is that a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has had a lot to deal with these past years, and he finally breaches the subject with Sherlock Holmes.<br/>He's searching for resolution, among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's All (It's Enough)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in a very long time, so please, be gentle. I'd absolutely love some feedback, call me out on any mistakes or any problems you have with it! I've just written it and decided to post it straight away before anxiety got the better of me and it ended up in the recycle bin or something.  
> Mary/John is more of a background, barely referenced thing. I just thought I'd put it in the tag. I also don't really know how to tag things yet, do forgive me.  
> So, yes, enjoy! (Hopefully.)

"You shut up right now and listen to me, Sherlock Holmes," John starts, using his commanding tone. He backs Sherlock into a corner of the flat, hands resting on either side of him. It's for control over the situation, that's all. And if the pace of his heart rate accelerates, it's his anger, not the proximity to Holmes. There's an undertone of shock in Sherlock's face, eyes searching the former army doctor. He opens his mouth and then closes it, due to John shooting him the sternest gaze he's ever received.

"My best mate jumps off of a bloody building, leaving nothing but a cryptic phone call, and stays absent for two years. I tell him, I say, don't you ever do that again. Ever. It was to save those he cares about, he tells." John pauses, eyes closing momentarily, pain creasing wrinkles into his forehead. His arms are getting sore from being raised, that's all. "Former drug addict, found in a crack den. And then, he nearly dies twice! Twice! By my own wife, who was apparently just another psychopath I fell in love with. Now, Moriarty is back, apparently alive and kicking.

"So, what, Sherlock, did you even spare me from?"

Sherlock tries best not to over-analyse the third to last sentence, but he's not very good at under-analysing most things. His head focuses more on the absolute hurt that the last question puts forth. Sherlock nearly winces and his lips part once more, a sound hushed that almost escapes.

"Shut. Up." John repeats, voice now wavering. Although his expression is still hard, tears spring in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he hangs his head forwards, cropped hair barely brushing the buttoned collar of Sherlock's shirt.

They stand there, for minutes, which somehow manage to feel like hours. Days. Two years. Just the sound of them breathing to break the otherwise silence. Sherlock's eyes slip closed after a few moments, thinking, thinking, thinking. His brain is always rushing. Always, unless influenced by some sort of toxin.

Toxin. Sometimes, John acts as one. The world stills, just so Sherlock can focus on their laughter, on their shared glances, on their domestic-yet-totally-platonic relationship. Right now, he's an anti-toxin, and Sherlock's scrambling thoughts are nearly audible.

He wants to take John's pain away. He feels like he's definitely, most certainly, failed his partner. His best friend. His catalyst for improvement. Betterment. John made him so much better, and he's made John so much worse.

This hits him, hard, in the chest. It doesn't matter that John is hovering centimetres away from the very location, he feels lost. In an oasis. And he realises quickly how selfish this feeling is. This mustn't even compare to the distress John has been under.

Mixed emotions now swelter and fog Sherlock's thoughts. He must fix this. Really, truly fix this. Where to start?

John stirs, and Sherlock realises that small sobs have begun to heave from his companion.

Sherlock's arms raise, slowly, before enveloping John and holding him tight. The taller of the two tucks his nose into the junction of the other's neck and shoulder region, hands splayed open and crushing into John's back. 

"You absolute, utter arsehole." John laughs, sadly, tears muting his voice. Then he returns the force of the hug twofold. And if his muscles finally relax, his heart warms, and he feels finally something related to peace internally-- well, it's not from the small kiss that Sherlock barely presses into his sweater. It's because he's confronted the problem, that's all.


End file.
